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the row again.
    Her sister was staring hard at her. And she had the strangest smile on her lips.
    A pleased smile.
    Is she happy that Karina is doing so well? Delia wondered. Did Sarah come here to see me lose?
    Why is she smiling like that?
    Delia’s thoughts snapped away from Sarah when the audience burst into applause. Applause that went on and on. She blinked and stared up at the stage. Karina smiled graciously.
    Delia didn’t wait to see any more. She couldn’t stand it.
    Before the judges called her name, she jumped out of her seat. She made her way backstage and grabbed her guitar case.
    Gabe came hurrying over from the light control panel. “You’re going to do great,” he whispered in her ear. Then he trotted back to his post.
    Delia watched the boys roll the piano off the stage. They set a tall stool in its place. She sucked in a deep breath, and forced herself to let it out slowly.
    You have to pretend this is no big deal, she told herself.
    â€œDelia Easton?” one of the judges called.
    I’ll pretend I’m at home, singing for Britty and Gabe. And Vincent, she thought. I really wish Vincent were here.
    Delia held her head high and strolled out onstage. “For today’s talent competition, I’ve written an original song,” she said into the microphone.
    She could barely see into the dark auditorium. But as she searched for the judges’ faces, Delia’s gaze fell on Karina. She had returned to her seat in the first row. Stewart sat beside her.
    Don’t let her get to you, Delia told herself. She gave Karina a smile. “It’s a song about a boy and a girl and how much they mean to each other. It’s called ‘Vincent.’”
    Delia set her guitar case on top of the stool. She turned her back to the audience and unsnapped the clasps.
    She flipped open the lid.
    Stared down at the guitar.
    And started to scream.

Chapter
    11

    T he strings.
    The strings. They had all been cut.
    Cut in half.
    They hung over the bridge of the guitar.
    And the scrawled words glowed up at Delia.
    Words scribbled in wet red paint across her guitar: HA HA.
    Delia’s scream caught in her throat. She gaped at the guitar. Blinked. Blinked again. As if trying to erase the picture.
    As if trying to force the ugly sight away. And return the guitar to normal.
    â€œOhhh.” She uttered a low moan as her eyes stopped at the hole in the center of the guitar.
    What was that stuffed in the hole? Crumpled gray rags?
    No.
    No. No. No!
    A rat. A decomposing rat. Its head jammed inside the guitar. Its pink tail and scrawny legs poking straight up.
    â€œNooooo!” Delia’s hands shot up to her face. She bumped the guitar case. The guitar toppled out. Hit the stage floor.
    The rat bounced out—and dropped with a soft plop on Delia’s shoe.
    She kicked it away. The tattered gray body sailed only a foot or two. The sunken rat eyes stared up at her accusingly.
    Suddenly feeling sick, Delia sank to her knees on the stage.
    Now she could see the rat more clearly. See the mangy patches where its hair had fallen out. See the strips of skin peeling away from its body. See the dried blood caked on its back.
    Her pulse pounded in her ears. But the sound wasn’t enough to block out the sounds she heard from the audience.
    Startled cries. Screams. Gasps of surprise. Murmured confusion.
    Footsteps thudded toward her. Then Gabe gently pulled her to her feet and helped her off the stage.
    Britty ran over to them. “Delia! What happened? Are you all right?”
    Delia didn’t answer. She stared at the front row. Karina hadn’t moved. Her lips were parted. Her eyes wide. She appeared so innocent. Little Miss Innocent.
    Delia uttered a screech of fury and hurtled over to Karina. “How could you?” Delia’s voice shook. Her body trembled.
    She pictured the rat jammed into her guitar hole, the scrawled HA HA. She glared at Karina. “How could